


Beauty and the Beast with a Twist, Sort of

by TearsOfWinter



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Consentacles, Half-Elves, M/M, wiggly wiggly goes up the bum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 06:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearsOfWinter/pseuds/TearsOfWinter
Summary: Fenris wants to buy a present for Anders to court him, but something goes wrong and now it’s up to Anders to break Fenris free from his curse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a conversation I had with @damnedapostate. I thought it was so funny, I had to write it. There is a second version of this story that I had with @mago-emplumado but it’s a bit more complicated, so I’ll save that one for later.

The Emporium made Fenris’ skin crawl. He was never able to stand the place, and didn’t understand why Hawke insisted on coming  _here_  of all places in search of a gift. Hightown with its’ multitude of merchants, the Dalish with their elven woodcrafts- Merrill would’ve been happy with whatever Hawke chose. There was an added bonus that the gift wouldn’t be cursed either. Couldn’t Hawke feel the dark, unholy magic that lingered here? The air was thick with forbidden witchcraft, clawing, scraping at his skin. It left Fenris on edge. He felt unclean and defiled as if he was back in Tevinter, surrounded by magisters freely flaunting their blood magic.  

What he wouldn’t give to leave, tail between his legs if he had to. Bad experiences and even worse memories taught him to flee such dark magic, but he wasn’t that much of a coward to leave Hawke behind. Without supervision, who knew what type of trouble the Champion would get himself into.

The elf spoke too soon. The second- and  _only a second_ \- Fenris took his eyes off Hawke, the fool sauntered up to the Antiquarian’s podium. “Xenon, my decrypted buddy, how long have we known each other?”

Fenris sighed, knowing he wasn’t getting paid enough for this jaunt.

“Two months,” the Xenon trilled. His disembodied voice rumbled through the caverns of the room.

Hawke waved the not so small detail aside. “I’m your best customer and you know it. C'mon, give me a discount. You can’t seriously think this,” the mage pointed to an elven carved ring “is worth 30 sovereigns.”

“If you can’t pay, then leave. Return when you can purchase it.”

“Aw, don’t say that! How about we work something out?” Hawke pleaded. “Anyone you want gutted or maimed, because I can do that easily. Favor for a favor.”

It took a great deal of effort to not roll his eyes, but with patience and willpower he didn’t know he had, Fenris’ face remained neutral. Barely. For Hawke’s sake, the elf contained his snort of bemusement against his friend’s horrendous haggling skills. He turned, leaving Hawke to his negotiations, and began wandering around the circular room. He stayed within sight, always close at hand should things turn unpleasant, but he avoided those baby blue eyes begging him for help.

As much of a fool Fenris thought Hawke was, he wasn’t the only idiot courting a mage. Fenris too, was looking for the elusive perfect gift; else, he would’ve never agreed to come to the Emporium, Hawke or no Hawke.  

As his thoughts turned to Anders, a fond smile found its way to Fenris’ lips. Despite his best attempt to squash the fluttering feeling in his chest, the stoic elf let out a chuckle. He rubbed a hand over his jaw as if he could still feel the phantom ache, and smiled. For a supposedly weakling mage, Anders had a mean right hook.

It was hard to recall their banter from so long ago, but whatever it was he said, it apparently pushed Anders past his boiling point. The mage threw down his precious staff, rolled up his sleeves, and punched him square in the jaw. No magic, no spells. Just fists.  

So Fenris followed, unwilling to use his powers against Anders if Anders wasn’t using his. Somehow, there was an unspoken agreement between them. Neither of them tapped into their abilities to gain an unfair advantage. They fought each other on even ground, trading punch for punch, fist to fist until the last of their strength drained away, leaving them sprawled on the ground exhausted.

Hours later, Fenris and Anders were still taking half-hearted pot shots at one another when Hawke called out to them, asking if they were finally done beating each other to a pulp. Fenris took one look at Anders and Anders took one look at him… and they both burst out laughing. With disheveled clothes and mussed hair, Fenris finally saw Anders for  _who_  he was, and not what. In the unflattering light of reality, Fenris saw a fragile human that had the galls to go hand-to-hand with a warrior, a being with neuroses and psychoses, with greasy hair and clothes that smelled of sewer, who acted rashly and contradicted himself and fumbled his way forward in an unfair world.

Suddenly, in Fenris’ eyes, Anders became beautiful.  

Just like that, the strained air that always divided them left. Vanished as if their rivalry never existed. Perhaps Isabela was right as she tended to be. The hostility between them could only be resolved by fighting or fucking each other. Because not soon after their fight, the tension they felt toward one another changed from enmity to sexual.

Annoying and frustrating as Anders was, Fenris wanted him. The attraction was a gradual thing, almost like a sickness. It was poison blazing through him, thinking about the mage all the time, watching him, touching him, wanting and wanting and wanting until his mind went blank. If Anders’ magic wasn’t pure and soothing as spirit healers should be, Fenris would’ve accused the blond of putting him under a thrall. But it was no blood magic for the desire that flowed between them. It was biology, pure and simple.

For years they’ve danced around each other, but Fenris was tired of the same old steps. The soft smiles, the longing gazes, he needed the answers behind them. What do they mean, and how did Anders feel about him? The wretched feeling of not knowing, of the possibility of more, it kept Fenris awake at night.

Fenris gazed at the trinkets and baubles that lined the walls and tables of the Emporium. He wanted his intentions known. Enough of this two steps forward and one step back. Enough with the flirting and loaded words. Did Anders desire him, yes or no? One way or another, Fenris was going to find out. If he followed Hawke’s advice and bought Anders a gift… then perhaps they’ll finally break free from this limbo they were in.

His resolve renewed, Fenris’ eyes roamed over the merchandises again with purpose. Finding nothing he thought was good enough for Anders, he clicked his tongue in disgust. He began to turn, disappointed the outing turned out to be such a waste of time, when a glint of gold, the color of Anders’ hair, caught his eye. He turned back to the pile of knickknacks he dismissed earlier, and buried beneath a mountain of ordinary shells, was a golden conch. 

The color itself reminded him of Anders, but that wasn’t the reason why Fenris picked up the conch and held it in his hand. Every inch of the shell was covered in animal carvings: a wolf, a tiger, a lion- the more Fenris looked, the more animals he found hidden on the conch. He smiled as his thumb traced over a cat languidly stretching across a sleeping bear. He thought of Anders and his reaction; the face he’d make when he gave him the shell, the look in his eyes when he found the cat, what he’d say when he told him why he got him a present.

This was it. The conch was the perfect gift for Anders. But before he could turn to Xenon and ask how much for the shell, agonizing pain flared through Fenris’ body. Liquid fire filled his veins. It was as if he was back in Tevinter, strapped to the table as Danarius etched raw lyrium into his skin. Fenris fell to the floor and screamed.

“FERIS!” He heard Hawke yell his name, but soon Fenris heard and saw nothing at all. His five senses dwindled into pure agony. His vision tunneled, growing smaller and smaller until he saw only pitched blackness. His lasts thoughts as he slipped into unconscious was his regret at never telling Anders how he felt…


	2. Chapter 2

“ANDERS!” The doors to the clinic slammed open with a reverberating bang.

Cracks of blue appeared on Anders’ skin as he turned, battle ready against the templars, but it wasn’t the Chantry dogs that stormed the clinic. It was Hawke, out of breath with panic in his eyes.

“Anders! Healing. Hurry, w-we need to go!” Hawke grabbed his wrist and began pulling.

 The Fade lines disappeared from Anders’ body, anger and injustice replaced by a healer’s concern. “What happened? Who’s hurt?” he asked, hastily grabbing his bag of healing potions and hurrying after his friend.

The champion dragged him through the secret tunnel that connected Darktown to the Amell estate. As they raced through the passageway, Hawke grimly shook his head. “It’s…it’s Fenris.” Not expecting to hear the the elf’s name, Anders’ barely caught himself when he stumbled.

“Fenris?” A knot formed in his throat, making it hard to breath. No. No, no, no. Nothing could happen to Fenris. He was hard as rock and tough to kill! He had to be okay! Fighting down the rising panic, Anders pushed forward, doing his best to act as a healer, and not a concerned lover. He had no right to call himself Fenris’ lover… They haven’t even kissed yet. “How bad is it?”

“Bad. Really bad. You…you have to see for yourself.” They burst through the cellar and Hawke led Anders to the stairs. “I didn’t want to carry him to his mansion, not when he was unconscious. He shouldn’t be left alone in case…In case something happened.”

Anders swallowed, eyes batting away unshed tears. Maker was Fenris..?

Hawke held his hand in his and gave him a pitying look. “I know you’ve two have gotten closer over these last few years… Just prepare yourself, Anders. The accident… It was bad. It took most of his body. I’m not sure if…” Hawke’s voice broke and he ducked his head to avoid Anders’ eyes. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have taken him with me. I can’t do anything to help him now, but please. Do whatever you have to, to help him, Anders. You’re his only hope now.”

Anders nodded his head, afraid he’d shatter to pieces if he used words.

“He’s upstairs in the room at the end of the hallway,” Hawke said. “Go see him before it’s too late.”

Anders headed upstairs, each step taking decades off his already shortened life. A numbness overtook him, painted by fear and dread. The long year in solitary, Anders lost all hope that the Maker ever heard his prayers, but he found himself praying again. He prayed with every string of heart beat that Fenris was alright, to please hold on. If there was still breath left in him, no matter how faint, Anders would muster all his strength he had to save him, even if it meant gambling away his own life.

He should’ve told Fenris his feelings. Why did he hold back? He was so afraid of dragging Fenris into a war not of his making, of falling in love and then losing him, that now he may never get the chance. Please. To whatever deity that was listening, be it the Maker or Mythal, let Fenris live. He’ll do anything if it meant Fenris was alive. He couldn’t bear to lose him.  

As if in answer to his prayer, there was a loud crash coming from Fenris’ room. It sounded like a mirror being hurled against the wall. Anders turned to look down at the stairs at Hawke, but the man was already gone.

Rather than ask any more needless question, Anders hurried to the elf’s room.

“Fenris?” He knocked. “Was that you? I’m coming in.”

“Go away!” Anders felt a rush of relief at hearing Fenris’ voice, strong and loud, sounding not at all like he was at his deathbed. Heedless of the other’s warning, Anders cracked open the door. After the scare Hawke put him through, he wanted to see with his own eyes that Fenris was alright. But the elf was nowhere in sight. 

“Fenris?” Anders stepped into the room, wondering where the elf could’ve gone. Pieces of glass and wood crunched beneath his feet as he searched. “Love,” he said, the endearment for the elf somehow coming naturally to him now, “where are you? Come out and let me look at you. Hawke said you were hurt.”

“Hawke said I was hurt?!” Fenris’ voice came from above him. “I’m more than hurt. I’ve been cursed!”

Anders’ head snapped up, but when he looked, he didn’t see Fenris. All he saw was a web of squirming tentacles looming over him. One by the one, the legs detached itself from the ceiling, the sound of writhing filling Anders’ ears. It dropped down, and Anders eyes widened as he saw Fenris.

“Look at me!” The elf screamed, pointing down to the bottom half of him. Gone where his legs. Waist down, he resembled the tentacle beast of legend. Purple, slimy limbs spread out like a skirt beneath him. One of them wrapped around Anders’ ankle, and the mage felt the suckers latch onto his skin.

Anders decided he must be dreaming. The long hours at the clinic must’ve caught up to him. And if he was dreaming, he might as well do it while lying down.

He fainted.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders slowly swam back to consciousness. He woke to darkness puddling in the corners of a high ceiling and a low-banked fire chasing shadows along the wall. In the back of his mind, he felt Justice prickling his senses with unease and foreboding, but he couldn’t figure out why. He was at Hawke’s mansion; he recognized the Amell crest hanging on the wall. Why would Justice tell him to run? It didn’t make sense. So he laid there for a few minutes, too groggy to do more than stare at the elaborate molding on the ceiling.

The ceiling…

Anders sprang up into a sitting position, his head almost knocking into Fenris’.

“You’re… awake,” the elf said, his tone hesitant and unsure.

Anders stared at Fenris sitting beside him. Flames flicked over his features, playing with the valleys and ridges of his strong, chiseled face. Under the scrutiny of emerald-green eyes, Anders’ blood quickened and his heart raced. Fenris’ devastating good looks was bad for his health. Whatever it was he thought saw in his dream, it most certainly wasn’t Fenris.

With a start, Anders realized Fenris kept watch over him as he slept. He cared for him, so much so that he kept a vigil. Unbidden, a smile made its’ way to Anders’ lips, and soon he was grinning outright. He reached for Fenris, hoping to hold his hand, but the elf snatched it away before they could touch.

“We can’t.”

“Why?” Anders whispered, the pain of rejection lacing his chest.

Head down and back hunched, Fenris made himself smaller. It hurt, seeing Fenris subdued. The usually defiant elf with eyes that could melt steel, avoided his gaze like he was afraid. But Fenris had no reason to be afraid of him. Not when they’ve come so far from their bickering days.

“Won’t you at least look at me?” Anders tried coaxing him, but when that made Fenris shrink further into himself, he switched to another tactic. Perhaps flirting would give him his grumpy elf back. “If you won’t look at me, I’ll have to start looking at other part of your body to keep me occupied. Starting with your abs.”

Anders laughed as Fenris suddenly whipped his head up, horrified. He took his chance, and slipped his hand into the elf’s and held on tightly. “I dreamt of you,” Anders said, hoping that if he filled the silence, the intimacy they once shared would come back to them. “Usually, when you’re in my dreams, it involves a lot less clothes and a lot more kissing.” He smiled, trying to pull Fenris in to laugh with him. “I must’ve ate some fish yesterday, because I dreamt you were part fish, and not just any fish, the eight-legged kind. The one with the suckers. The bottom half of you had squirming tentacles.” Anders trailed his thumb across the back of the hand he held. “But tentacles or no, it’s frustrating how handsome you are. I would still kiss you senseless. Might actually be even kinda hot." 

Anders expected Fenris to roll his eyes at his shameless flirting; it was typically how he reacted to his heavy-handed innuendos. But there was no teasing comeback or bemused snort. Fenris’ expression was set in stone, sullen and sad.

"It wasn’t a dream,” he said.

The mage cocked his head, a confused smile on his face. “What do you mean?”

Fenris stood, and the blanket Anders didn’t notice before, fell from his lap.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he repeated himself. Where his legs should be, writhing tentacles thrashed as if they had a mind of their own.

Anders stared, unable to tear his eyes from the horrifying sight.

“I told Hawke not to bring you here,” Fenris mumbled, his voice meek and filled with shame. “You’re the last person I wanted to see me like this. You must think I’m disgusting. I’m a monster!”

Fenris tried to pull away and hide, but Anders couldn’t allow that. Fenris was in pain and hurting. What kind of healer was he if he let the wound fester? What kind of lover would he be, if he couldn’t see past the superficial? He might’ve been shocked by the sudden change in Fenris, but his feelings for the elf remained the same. He didn’t fall in love with Fenris because of his good looks; if he had, they would’ve never bickered in the beginning. He fell in love because of who Fenris was: an honorable man with a wicked sense of humor. Someone that guarded him, protected him despite his prejudice against mages. He saw how hard Fenris worked to see past his bias and trauma. Fenris was doing it for him, for their possible future together. In his eyes, all mages were monsters. If Fenris could see past that, why couldn’t Anders?

His grip on the elf’s hand tightened. Gently but persistently, he dragged a reluctant Fenris to sit beside him on the bed. “This changes nothing,” he said, reaching up and letting the tips of his fingers caress the side of his face. “I will always love you, Fenris.”

Fenris jolted at the unexpected words. For years, he waited to hear them… but now, they caused nothing but anguish. “How could you love me? I’m a monster.” He quivered under Anders’ hand, but didn’t pull away. “The sight of me made you faint. You were afraid of me.” Despite the snarl of anger building inside his chest at himself and his circumstances, he kept his voice soft as possible, afraid he’d scare Anders again. Afraid the mage would stop touching him… or that he would not.

“I wasn’t afraid. I was surprised.”

“Does this not make you fear me?” Fenris’ deep voice growled.

Anders rested his palm on Fenris’ cheek, their eyes boring into each other’s soul. “Are you going hurt me? Do you still hate me because I’m a mage?”

“No! I would never hurt you. I don’t hate you. I…care for you…”

It was the closet Fenris could say that he loved him. Anders was satisfied. He didn’t need the words to know how Fenris felt. The answer had always been there, right in front of them, but they had been too scared, too cowardly to look. But no more. Anders was tired of running, as much as Fenris was tired of chasing.

“What happened to you?” the mage asked, threading his fingers through white locks of hair.

Angers and despair subsiding, Fenris rested his cheek against Anders’ hand. A low rumble began in his chest. He didn’t know he was capable of purring until Anders’ showed him what contentment and happiness was.

“The Emporium,” he said, turning his face to kiss the mage’s palm. “I touched a seashell and it turned me into this.” He purposely skipped the part where he wanted to buy the conch as a gift for Anders. Knowing his mage, if he told him why he was at the Emporium, Anders’ would blame himself for his circumstances. It wasn’t his fault, and Fenris intended to keep it that way. “Xenon mentioned the shell was cursed with a love spell. For anyone that touched it, only their true love could break the spell.” Fenris snorted disdainfully. “More blood magic.”

“…Is that why Hawke brought me here? Because he thinks I’m your…”

Fenris’ ears burned a pretty pink. He looked to the side, avoiding Anders’ eyes once again, but he didn’t remove his cheek from the mage’s hand. “I told him it was stupid. There are other ways to break the-”

Anders leaned forward and touched his lips to the other male’s. Fenris couldn’t move. It was if the kiss had turned him to stone. Anders lips were softer and warmer than he imagined- but in a heartbeat, he was gone.

Fenris was left blinking at the blond, disappointed. That was all? He expected much more from their- from his- first kiss. The tingle of the maddeningly brief touch had already faded. He didn’t even have time to considering returning the kiss.

“Your lips are warm.” Anders pulled away, but only by a hand’s width.

“And yours… yours are soft.” Fenris somehow got the words free from where they had lodged in his throat.

“Well, that didn’t work like the fairytales. I thought the spell was supposed to break with a kiss. Maybe we should try one more time. May I kiss you again?”

Not trusting himself to maintain control of his voice, Fenris nodded.

This time Anders lingered, his arms tightening around him, pressing deeper and closer. The first touch of the mage’s lips stole everything from Fenris. All strength drained from his lips and every breath surrendered to him. They were kissing, but it was so much more than the brief meeting of mouths as he’d shown him earlier. It was breath and body. His scent filled Fenris’ scenes. Anders was sweet mint and warm apples. The roughness of his mouth urged his own to yield, to open to him.

“It’s better if you kiss me back,” Anders murmured against his lips.

As he enviously seen other lovers do, Fenris parted his lips and tilted his head.

When Anders’ tongue flicked briefly against his, Fenris shied away, but the mage was playful and teasing. He explored his mouth, inviting him to taste him in the same way. Before long, Fenris grew bold, reaching for him with every part of him, pressing their bodies together. With a growl that changed to a moan, his hands came up to circle Anders’ neck. Their kiss deepened, they molded against each other, soft against hard. Fenris felt the other’s heat just as he could taste him. His body came alive, his nerves were awake and sharpened, demanding more. He wanted Anders’ with a lust that was as white hot as the agony that was coupled with his desire. His pulse pounded in his temples as his blood surged in streams of liquid fire through his body. There was nothing in the world except Anders- his touch, his taste, his heat.

Anders lifted his head and continued to hold Fenris cradled against him, though they no longer kissed. “Damn,” he panted breathlessly, “That still didn’t work. I’ll have to look into this spell… We could kiss a few more times to make sure though, if you want.”

“Xenon mentioned how to break the curse, for a price.” Fenris folded himself into Anders’ lap, though the tentacles made it difficult. He grimaced at the reminder of what he was now. It dampened the happiness Anders’ affection just gave him.

Sensing Fenris’ turning mood, Anders rested his forehead against the elf’s and nuzzled their noses together. “Not kisses? Because I would enjoy breaking the curse over and over if it was.”

“No, not kisses. That would be too easy.” Fenris lifted himself from the other’s lap, and gave Anders’ a bemused smile. “Sex. Hawke brought you here to have sex with me.”

Hawke’s last words to Anders came back to haunt him. “Do whatever you have to, to help him, Anders. You’re his only hope now.”

That son of a bitch…

“You must be changing your mind.” At Anders’ damning silence, Fenris began to move away. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with a foul beast.”

Anders’ cursed under his breath at his own stupidity. Maker’s breath, what was he doing? How could he let Fenris’ think he was unworthy of love? It was intolerable, an injustice that he was about to make right.

He started stripping.

“What are you doing?” Fenris asked, eyes going wide as Anders threw his robe to the floor and began unlacing the front of his trousers.

“About to have sex with you, what does it look like?”

Standing proud buck naked, Anders pushed the stunned elf onto his back and straddled him. “How do you want to do this? Do you prefer to top or bottom? Actually, how does sex work with um…ah…your bottom half? Do your wiggling things go up my bum?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders is about to have a big appreciation for sushi next chapter


End file.
